A few days ago I took off for a long weekend in Los Angeles, for less fun reasons, and my favorite blogger in the world had sent me a book not too long before. It was a murder mystery called Flipping Out and I'd never heard of it before and since it's been a few too many years since I've read a new book in it's entirety, it took me a while to start it. I got going pretty hardcore while I was on the plane, and that book is arguably one of my favorite books in print today. Except it's not in print just yet. So you can wait until it hits the shelves to try it out, or you can ask me to send you an autographed copy once it's released and I might just do that.
In case you'd rather not just take my word for it, it's kind of like 10 Little Indians meets Trading Spaces meets The Shield. It's about fishing, cougars, house flippers, romance novelists, murder, greed, and the pièce de résistance? One of the main characters is introduced in the book as being a recovering Jehovah's Witness. Which I sort of have a thing for. It's about being a writer, about conflicts of interest, it's unpredictable and even I, who totally knew who Keyser Söze was 30 minutes into that movie, could not figure the mystery out. Oh, and the world's leading authority on all things awesome says that Marshall Karp is a totally rad guy who sends other people's kids Easter baskets, so he's got that going for him. Which is nice. And I like those mini Reese's in mine, for the record.
The apple falling not so far from the tree: When I was a little girl, under 6 little, I used to go into my father's room when he was at work and put one of his dirty shirts on. I'd then put one of his cowboy hats on and I'd dab my little arms with his Old Spice. Because I loved the smell of that man, and I missed it when he was gone. Or I was a cross-dresser. Either way.
When I was comforting my son last night, who was bawling his little eyes out for having made *gasp* a mistake on his math homework, my daughter snuck into my bathroom and rubbed her daddy's Old Spice deodorant all over her eyes. Because I left her for four days and all of a sudden, she loves the smell of her daddy and misses it when he's gone. Or she's just not terribly bright yet. Either way.
The number three and why it can bite me: In four days time, my friends crashed their car, I had my passport stolen by a senile woman who didn't look a thing like me so she couldnt' have used it anyway, and I had to call poison control within 5 hours of being home with my kids. We'll blame this on bad things happening in threes and not my totally suckitude, shall we?
Decent hand jobs making me all loose lipped: While I was stranded in LA, waiting for Fury's birthday party to start, realizing that I was about to meet d'Wife looking like a professional hobo, I stopped into the closest salon and asked them to for the love of god and all that's holy make my hair look like anything but *this*. I smelled like I won't tell you, my arms hurt from dragging my luggage all over the city and I'd just cried enough tears to flood miniature caucus races. Out of the back walked a veryveryvery hot girl named Natalie and she did things to my head that no one's ever done before. I almost proposed marriage to her but instead, I ended up telling her the name of this blog. Which may not be a big deal to you, but it's a big deal to me because she's the first person I've ever just randomly told about it. EVER. And now I'm kind of afraid. So hi, Natalie. If you're reading this, don't say I didn't warn you. It's worse than I let on.
Passing the buck and dropping the ball: The lovely Palinode was kind enough to cover my American Idol shift this week and he totally out-did me, but I think my husband failed in every way to tape Lost for me. So I lost my passport to get back at him. Suck on that, bitch.